


Advice

by RavenclawKlainer



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-13
Updated: 2013-06-13
Packaged: 2017-12-14 21:16:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/841470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenclawKlainer/pseuds/RavenclawKlainer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Honest, kind and fair, Combeferre is a favourite amongst Les Amis for advice, and for a single man, he gives a whole lot of relationship advice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Advice

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write something about Combeferre because I have a soft spot for him, but I don't know who I ship him with, so this is Courfeyrac/Jehan centric instead. I also have a multi-chapter eR fic in the works.  
> Thanks for reading!

Combeferre had had a long day. His lectures had been tiresome, the bus journey loud, and it had been raining all day (this wasn't exactly unusual, but he also happened to have rushed out of the house that morning without his umbrella). In short, he was in a bad mood when he got home, and was eager to relax (and maybe take a shower, he was soaked to the skin). Unfortunately though, Combeferre had something of a reputation amongst his friends, Les Amis. Combeferre was a kind soul, good-natured, intelligent, articulate and measured. Because of this, he was something of an agony aunt to the rest of the group: they flocked to him like children to their mother seeking advice on anything and everything. It's not as though Combeferre disliked this, in fact he enjoyed the fact that his friends trusted him and had faith in his advice. However, when he had had a day so rough as this one, the last thing Combeferre wanted to deal with was a fuming Enjolras. It took little over an hour for Combeferre to calm his angry friend who was once again ranting about Grantaire's drinking habits. After that hour, Combeferre finally found himself on his own again, and he admitted to himself that he was glad of the alone time. Flopping down on the sofa, Combeferre let out a contented sigh and felt his whole body relax. His hand was wrapped around a cup of tea in his favourite mug, the Lilo And Stitch design that Jehan had picked out slightly faded from overuse.  
By way of relaxation, Combeferre picked up the TV remote and flicked lazily through the channels, eventually settling on a documentary about sea predators that he had only a passing interest in. Minutes ticked away, and Combeferre was vaguely aware of his heavy eyelids drooping, his head lolling slightly against the back of the sofa, the sounds of the TV growing muffled as his drifted slowly towards sleep...

He tried his hardest not to groan when he heard the soft knock at the door. Reluctantly, he dragged himself up from the sofa, eyes still mostly closed, and stumbled over to the door. Behind it as he soon revealed, was a down-hearted looking Jehan, looking up at him expectantly with sad blue eyes.  
"Jehan," Combeferre said with a yawn, stretching his arms out above his head, "I wasn't expecting anyone. Come in." He stepped aside to let Jehan through the door.  
"I'm sorry to disturb you Combeferre, but I really need some advice."  
"Of course," Combeferre said, following Jehan inside. Usually, the poet would have engaged in small talk, perhaps asked Combeferre about his day, but today he got straight to the point, his words flowing freely through his trust in Combeferre.  
"I was just with Courfeyrac," he said, "And I realised how ridiculous this is getting. I can barely sit in the same room as him."  
"By 'this', can I assume that you're referring to the crush you mentioned the other day?"  
"Yes. I really like him, but I'm hopeless at this. Besides, he'd never like me like that. Everyone Courfeyrac's ever dated is such a far stretch from me." Jehan sounded very frustrated. It was odd to hear him like this, Jehan was usually so peaceful.  
"Well, firstly, I believe you've come to the wrong person about this," Combeferre confessed, "I'm hardly an expert in this area. Even so," he lay a comforting hand on Jehan's shoulder, "You know that he considers you a friend, and whilst I can't guarantee he'll reciprocate, I'm sure Courfeyrac would not judge you for telling him how you feel. That is really the only way this issue is going to go away."  
"Are you suggesting that I just go up to him and say it?" Jehan whined.  
"You're a poet, Jehan, surely this should be something you'd excel at," Combeferre countered.  
"Well, maybe but-"

"Combeferre, let me in!"  
"Shit!" Jehan hissed, "Is that Courfeyrac? Shit!"  
"Combeferre, I know you're here, come on!"  
Jehan was bouncing on the balls of his feet, a pained expression on his face.  
"He can't know I'm here."  
"Why?"  
"You think I told him I was coming here to confess my love for him? No, I said I had to go to the library to urgently finish an essay." The insistent knocking on the door continued.  
"Combeferre, this is important."  
"I'm just coming," Combeferre called back to pacify his impatient friend. Jehan let out a noise like a wounded animal before rushing to lock himself in the bathroom. Combeferre looked after him for a few moments before huffing and finally opening the door to Courfeyrac.  
"Jeez, Combeferre what kept you?" he asked, a hint of agitation under his usual friendly energy. Without waiting to be invited, Courfeyrac headed straight into Combeferre's flat, flopping down on the sofa. "Who were you talking to?" Combeferre froze.  
"What?"  
"I could hear you talking from outside."  
Combeferre frantically glanced around the room.  
"I was just uh, Skyping Enjolras," he said, his eyes chancing upon his laptop on the coffee table. Courfeyrac nodded, accepting the excuse.  
"Did you come here for something?" Combeferre asked, regaining his usual composure. Courfeyrac shuffled uncomfortably.  
"Actually yeah," he admitted, "D'you mind if I just use the bathroom fir-"  
"NO."  
Courfeyrac froze, halfway between sitting and standing. Combeferre cursed internally before hastening to cover himself.  
"It's just that the toilet is, u, broken, you can't use it. Sorry."  
Shooting his friend a slightly worried look, Courfeyrac sat back down.  
"Okay well, I won't then." he said, before beginning again, his voice quiet, "I need some advice." Combeferre failed to suppress a sigh.  
"You do that a lot, y'know. Sighing," Courfeyrac noted with a smirk. Not amused, Combeferre fixed Courfeyrac with a stare and nodded him back to the topic.  
"It's well, it's Jehan."  
"Jehan?" Combeferre parroted. A high pitched squeak could be heard from the bathroom.  
"What was that?"  
"Nothing, go on," Combeferre urged, "What about Jehan?"  
"Does he like me?"  
"Of course," Combeferre frowned, noticing how this mirrored his previous conversation.  
"Yeah, but does he really? He hardly ever even makes eye contact with me. Whenever we're together, he always has some reason to leave. We were at the Musain about an hour ago, and suddenly he had some essay he had to go and write."  
Guiltily, Combeferre looked away.  
"You know what Jehan is like, he's always remembering to do things he should have done last week. That's probably why his clothes are always mismatched: he doesn't remember to do his laundry until he realises he doesn't have any clothes. It's just what he's like. And he's always been a little shy. Believe me, Jehan doesn't dislike you."  
A look of relief flooded over Courfeyrac's face, but he still look uneasy.  
"I was worried that I'd upset him or something," he confessed, his voice growing even quieter, "And I'd never want to upset Jehan. I...I think I might have feelings for him."

Combeferre stared.  
"You have feelings for Jehan? Romantic feelings for Jehan?" Courfeyrac nodded.  
"But I know he'll never like me back, I don't really think I'm his type."  
Combeferre put his face in his hands. "Jesus Christ," he said, exasperated. A few seconds later, the bathroom door creaked open an inch, and a light blue eye peered out.  
"Courfeyrac?"  
"Jehan?"  
The bathroom door opened another few inches so that Jehan's whole face could be seen. Courfeyrac gulped.  
"How much did you hear?" he asked, nervous. Jehan stepped out of the bathroom.  
"Quite a lot," he admitted, "Well, all of it." Courfeyrac took and deep breath.  
"And?"  
Still sat quietly on the couch, Combeferre looked up at his friends. He was in an odd situation: he knew that the feelings were mutual but he still had no idea how they were going to react to such an abrupt realisation of it, not to mention the fact that the second hand embarrassment was killing him.  
"I..." Jehan faltered, smiling shyly, "I think I like you too."  
"Really?" Courfeyrac's face lit up like an excited child. Jehan nodded, his small smile growing rapidly into a much brighter one.

Combeferre was glad that his living room was directly off of his front door, as he had little desire to continue watching as his two friends began kissing frantically.  
"Okay, it would appear I am no longer of use," he said, standing and herding the pair, still clutching at each other, towards the door. He suspected that they hardly noticed as he nudged them out into the hallway. "Goodnight," he bid them, although he doubted they heard. First Enjolras and Grantaire, then Courfeyrac and Jehan, for someone so used to giving relationship advice, Combeferre was woefully single. That wasn't of concern to him right now though, as he was glad to have some peace at last.


End file.
